


Concerning Superheroes and the Ambition of Geneticists

by orphan_account



Category: Avengers, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, mentions of wounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't often that you decided to take control of your own fate. This time was a bit different; it had unforseen consequences and the only thing you definitively knew was that you're in too deep to take it back.<br/>...<br/>A kind-of series (more like a collection of one-shots/drabbles) centered around geneticist!reader and their relationship with the Avengers. Post!AOU, WILL contain spoilers. Rating might change, more pairings will be added as I write them.</p><p>***Currently on hiatus!***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy, this series is something new for me that I'm trying out. Tell me how it goes, feedback and constructive criticism is always appreciated!  
> This first chapter may be a bit slow, but it's the introduction so just hang on tight. I promise it'll get exciting soon. xx  
> (Although I get the feeling that it will get exciting faster if feedback is given wink wink nudge nudge)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction -- Slight Helen Cho/Reader

You weren't quite sure if you were actually meant to be where you were.  
It was a quiet day at the genetics lab. It reflected in everything. The clouds drifted solemnly past the window, it seemed like the other interns were replaced with silent shadows of their past selves. Even the occasional metallic snips of scissors or itching of pens felt too intrusive. But more than that, it was a slow day; even the witty minds that were normally so quick were out-sped by the sluggish scientists lugging medical carts behind them.  
And you weren't exactly sure if you were meant to be there... maybe you were lacking somewhere else? And this, of course, had multiple meanings. In one sense, you weren't exactly sure if you were called in for work that day. You had been paged out of bed at an ungodly hour and apparently there was an emergency; the only worrying thing nearby was the large gaggle of geese gathering outside that might follow you to your car later. However, you also felt that you weren't meant to be THERE, in that moment at that time of your life. If fate was a person, you had probably mistaken them for someone else and walked right past it. You kept wondering if there wasn't something more than this damn temp job where you were told, day in, that something would happen and, day out, nothing ever did.  
You reminded yourself that you could have it much worse. You were in scientific heaven, or -- as known in downtown New York -- the labs of Avengers Tower with the renowned Helen Cho herself as your superior. How lucky could an aspiring geneticist be?  
Just a little luckier, you thought as you sorted a drawer of manila folders, each a little bit thicker than the rest. There was the dull hope that you would be called in to see Cradle at work. But, after two uneventful weeks at these labs, the thought slipped your mind without even a push at optimism. Rebuilding human bodies should have been exciting, and it was, but you it wasn't what you were doing as a temp. You would have figured that at this point you would have even seen a stray Avenger wandering in, but no such luck for you.  
Although you would be a liar if you denied that you were getting ideas of your own. The notion of going upstairs to meet them yourself had teased you for a few days now, and you were oh, so tempted to grab hold of it. You were hoping to ask Dr. Cho for another opportunity, any kind of life preserver that could pull you out of your apathy, but she wasn't making it easy for you. Between both of your schedules, there was barely enough time to spare for you to talk about your future. The pair of you were due to return to Seoul in a week's time but you were determined to ask, if nothing else.  
A well-timed distraction came from your pager when it vibrated in your pocket. You grabbed it and glanced at it: "Get to main lab, Cradle test in progress." So it seems you stood corrected. A curious bubble of excitement welled up in your chest and you read the message over again. "Cradle test in progress," rumbled through your mind as you hastily locked the cabinet and pocketed the key. You made your way down the brightly lit halls with a skip in your step until you paused in front of the main lab door. Your heart felt as if it was filled with water and it beat heavily in your chest. You let out a sigh and compose yourself before you enter, gripping the pager in your left hand tightly.  
It was as silent as death in the room. It sobered your buzz immediately. Although Cradle wasn't a large machine, it made you feel small. Your heart pounded just a little harder when you noticed the body, the motionless body lying on it. Dr. Cho, looking more frazzled than you had ever seen her, was leaning over it and tapping something on a small keypad, presumably the start-up code; she looked up when she heard your shoes tap the linoleum flooring. She beckoned you forward and you peered over her shoulder.  
"Who is this?" you asked her quietly. There was no need to whisper, but it felt wrong not to.  
"Pietro Maximoff." You vaguely remembered the pretty receptionist downstairs mentioning him.  
"What happened to him?"  
"Uh... he was hurt. During the whole Ultron thing, you know?" That was probably as much as you would get out of her. Since you had met her, you've found that Dr. Cho was shier than you; but it was unusual for her to be this brisk. The quiet taps of the numbered keys and your fidgety foot replaced your murmurs. You were about to say something else when Cradle beeped and began to whir.  
"Here," it was Dr. Cho who spoke then, "you can put in the last code."  
You didn't hesitate, and fell into muscle memory. You remembered orientation and tapped out the combination of numbers that had been cast-ironed in your mind for weeks now and just begging to be used. The whirring intensified and you stepped back a meter. "Make sure to keep a safe distance away once the machine is working, to avoid any accidents," the safety video had taught you.  
You studied him, Pietro Maximoff, as you and Dr. Cho waited. You weren't sure what you were waiting for; maybe for Cradle to finish, maybe just until the other walked away. It was the kind of waiting that only occurs because there seems to be nothing else to do.  
The first thing you noticed was his poorly-dyed hair. The silver wisps clashed against is roots and his thick, dark eyebrows. His eyes were closed but you were secretly hoping that they were blue, or maybe a deep brown. His pale skin was pulled taut over his sharp jaw and torso, and painted with old bruises and healed-over cuts. And then, something else. Bullet wounds? Bullet wounds, they were bullet wounds, and you realized that this was a much direr situation than you had first thought. You had forgotten that the group of superheroes a few floors above you had risked their lives for the whole Ultron thing, and this was a sharp reminder who wouldn't let you forget it.  
"H-how was he shot?"  
She looks up, startled for a second, and then shrugs, "No one told me, but from what I've heard, he took the bullets for Hawkeye. Barton, I mean," she clarifies, "who was getting shot at. At least, that's the most recent story that's been circulating. The receptionist told me yesterday that the bullets bounced off of Rogers' shield and hit him."  
"Oh." There was nothing left to say. Your nerves were getting the better of you. Of course the machine worked -- why wouldn't it? -- but were his injuries too severe? Were you too slow? If he lived quickly, you could only imagine how quickly he would die. You bounced on your toes and tapped your fingers rhythmically against your arms. It struck you then that you finally had time. It was intimidating to realize that your next words could throw your life onto a new, exciting axle. Maybe permanently.  
Minutes that felt like a millena ticked by. You felt stiff and awkward just standing there, and you made an effort to slope your shoulders and drop your hands by your sides. There was a wall of tension between the two of you and it wasn't the usual tension. This one was different; instead of making you force out an awkward greeting and a poor ice-breaker, you were uneasy and anxious to say anything. _Just ask_ , you coaxed yourself. _Ask, it's fine, you'll be fine. It's better now than later._ You breathed in. Dr. Cho probably knew that you had something to say, but she wasn't going to be the first to speak and she was looking at you expectantly.  
"I- Dr. Cho, I had an idea that I think would really benefit me... and the company, of course. And since you're my superior... " you trailed off for a moment, "Maximoff is an Avenger. I was thinking, since they're getting hurt so often, they might need someone who can work Cradle for them in case something like this happens again. And, let's be honest, it's likely to with these guys."  
Helen had an inkling towards where this was going. She knew you well enough now, at least she thought so, but either way it was clear that this trip wasn't what you had expected. It had met her expectations, but then again, she wasn't required to train and organize files all day. She nodded and wiped her hands on her lab coat as you spoke.  
"And I know how to work the machine, you've seen me do it during training, and you're leaving for Seoul again in a week. I could stay here, manage and help out if it's needed. And I don't think it would be too hard to move, I mean... well, yeah," you ended weakly. That was it, you did it; the ball was in Dr. Cho's court now. All you could do was wait but you would have rather sunken into the floor than hear the answer. You couldn't look Dr. Cho in the eye although you tried your best to.  
"I'll tell you what," Helen says, "if you manage to find somewhere to stay before we leave, we'll figure something out with the boss." Helen patted herself on the back for handling this in a fair, proactive way. She kind of liked the astonished beam that you gave her.


	2. Ripping Off the Band-Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ripping Off The Band-Aid -- Tony Stark/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short bonus, more of a drabble ft. our very own Tony Stark.

"So you're saying you'll do anything for a room?" Tony Stark grinned and turned up the charm a degree. He wouldn't say he was a mean person, but he sort of liked toying with people from time to time. And he knew that an arched eyebrow, brown eyes that were wide but not exactly in an innocent way, a know-it-all tone, and enough confidence could throw off anyone. He also happened to find that you were kind of endearing when you were daunted. Your eyes were darting around the room and your hands picked nervously at your thumbnails.  
"Ah, you know I kid. Calm down a bit, you're setting me on edge." He swirled his ice around his empty glass before setting it down on the counter and standing up.  
"Are you sure you don't want anything?" he asked, gesturing to the mini-bar behind him. You shook your head no and dropped your shoulders, almost to convince him that no, really, he wasn't the intimidating big-shot he thought he was.  
"Well -- that's all I wanted to ask. I need an answer by Thursday, if that's okay. Since I have to tell Dr. Cho, and then I'd have to figure everything out with my old landlord and then move in and all." You were starting to reconsider coming to Tony Stark. It was cheaper than renting, and you were still hoping that you would run into Captain America. But Tony was rubbing off the wrong way and you were pretty sure that he knew it. Besides, you still had yet to decide whether he was more or less brash than the news made him out to be.  
"I can give you an answer now," Tony responded, "You can move in whenever you want, I have more rooms than I need anyway." Normally, you would have braced yourself, but that was over faster than you could have anticipated. By the time you had realized he was going to say something important, he had already finished. He was probably the kind of person who ripped off band-aids.  
"Oh -- well, thank you so much, that really helps me out -- " he shrugged and gave you a crooked smile that was nothing like the mischievous leer he gave you earlier.  
"Don't sweat it. Ask the receptionist for my number and let me know when you'll be moving in. Thor, Cap and his cold friend, they've got the whole 'superman physique' thing going on. They can help you with your stuff."  
You decided that you might learn to like Tony Stark. You thanked him and left, grinning to yourself as you headed down the stairs. It was a small achievement, but for the first time in a while, you felt like you were taking control of your own life and you were proud. There was no damn billionaire in the world who could get the better of you, no matter how big and brown his eyes were.  
Tony watched you go as he popped a piece of ice in his mouth. He probably wouldn't call himself a good person, either, but he sort of hoped that that was your first impression of him. He wouldn't tell anyone, though.


	3. A Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Compromise -- Pietro Maximoff/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit slow atm, but this is the last part of the unofficial introduction and it'll speed up after this, I promise. feedback and requests make it even speedier!

A week had passed after you finalized your deal with Tony, but it felt like less. Everything felt a little off; Dr. Cho was gone by then and she took everything that felt familiar to you along with her. You were hoping that, after moving in all of your old furniture, the surroundings you were used to would bring a little comfort. You were almost doubting that, just a few weeks ago, your life was so slow that you could practically feel the Earth rotating beneath you. Now, you were moving too fast for the rest of the world. It gave a part of you a rush. Another part couldn't believe it, but wasn't ready to, anyway. A third part wanted to stop right there, curl up, and watch as the world strolled by smugly because it had outsmarted yet another poor, expectant, naive mortal.  
You had only been officially living at the Avengers Tower for a few hours now, but you had already met two more superheroes. Iron Man stayed true to his word; he actually did send someone down to help you move all of your stuff. You were sitting on the barren kitchen counter -- you planned to fill the space with a bowl of fruit or maybe some flowers later -- and Wanda Maximoff was standing in front of you. She was turned away from you and concentrating. Your gaze was fixed on the bright red coils of energy that were conducting your furniture from the floors below and setting them down in your apartment. Telekinesis, Wanda had explained earlier. Her power awed you, but you didn't dare break her meditation.  
Every once in a while, a silver blur would dart past you. You couldn't see him, but you knew it was Pietro. He was back on his feet only a few days after the Cradle operation was finished. For the next few coming weeks, every time you met someone you would let it slip that you took part of that very successful test. Pietro paused by the doorway. He was holding a knick-knack in each hand and looking at you questioningly.  
"Just, uh... set those down in that big entry-type room,"  
You met his eyes for a second before he was just... gone. It was almost like he was never there. You had only imagined the reflections off of his irises and silver hair as he stared straight at you, too, then looked away like he was caught staring at someone humiliating themselves. Neither of you had spoken a word to each other after your short-lived and clumsy introduction.  
Hello, you had said. He returned the greeting. You told him that you knew who he was, and Pietro was taken aback for a moment.  
"I mean, I worked at the lab where they saved you. I was part of the test."  
"... thank you." His thanks sounded more so like a question. He was looking at you quizzically. More often than not Pietro was wary towards strangers, but he didn't know what to make of you. You, standing there with your hands clasped together to shield yourself from his distrustful gaze and assumptions, flaming cheeks, and an unsure, close-lipped smile. He was your mirror image: arms folded to ensure that the distance between you wasn't going anywhere, a drag of pink where his cheek normally be pale, and an upturned quirk of his lip that was edging between grimace and smirk depending on the angle of where you looked. He thought of breaking the ice to put both you and himself more at ease; his mind was going blank so instead, he let his feet take over.  
"I -- oh." And then you were alone. So you made small talk with Wanda, who seemed sweet, and fell back into the listless lull of arranging furniture.  
There he was again, you had seen him. He would have been inconspicuous if it weren't for the vivid blue trail that followed him and lingered in the air for a moment after he left like an expensive perfume. For once, Pietro faltered in front of the doorway to pause and look at you.  
"Where do you want this?" he asked, holding up a small marble box that you knew contained a few pieces of the more lavish jewelry that you owned. It ill-suited the rest of your belongings.  
"Oh, I can take that."  
You held out your hand and offered a smile to compromise for the barrier that you would be breaking. A stiff tension that he built, brick by brick, to keep his sister and him safe would be demolished, but for the promise of a possible friendship. Was it worth it? He stepped forward and delicately dropped the simple ivory box in your opened palms. His hand was larger than yours and you expected that, if the box weren't there, it would have felt calloused. You thanked him and he ran off again.


End file.
